


Sing Softly to My Soul

by dedicatedfollower467



Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, Lord of the Rings (Movies), Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Daemons, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Long, all the characters - Freeform, basically everybody in the book is in this story, basically just telling the story again, lots and lots of characters, lots of characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-11-27 13:44:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 4,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/662662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedicatedfollower467/pseuds/dedicatedfollower467
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of the One Ring, and how one small little hobbit and his daemon overcame the greatest odds to destroy it.</p>
<p>Basically, this story is what Lord of the Rings would be like if everybody had His Dark Materials-esque daemons. You don't need to have read HDM to read this story, only know that daemons are an external, animal-shaped form of a person's soul/spirit/conscience/consciousness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: What Happens in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo and his daemon find something they weren’t expecting, something that will change the course of history.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marecia is a black Brown Rat _Rattus norvegicus_ http://pics.hoobly.com/full/NZ7HPSANK4U5.jpg

Marecia crept quietly along slightly ahead of Bilbo, her sharp eyes and nose picking out the best passage. Bilbo was distinctively uncomfortable. He wished he could pick Marecia up and curl her against his neck, just to have her close. The creature that had gone on ahead didn’t seem to have a daemon (and Bilbo shuddered again at the thought of not having one) and he didn’t know what it would do to poor Marecia if it saw her. He’d seen the way the orcs had roughly grabbed at the dwarves’ daemons.

Suddenly Marecia paused and sniffed for a moment. “There’s something here!” she whispered, just loudly enough that her voice would carry back to Bilbo.

Bilbo knelt down immediately beside his little rat daemon, and she scrambled up to his shoulder as they both peered down to the ground, examining the object by the flickering blue light of his sword.

It was a ring, a simple golden band. A little thick, maybe, but relatively small – not made for a man’s hand, or even a dwarf’s hand, but just the right size to slip onto a hobbit’s finger. Bilbo didn’t think much about it. He reached down to pick it up.

“No!” hissed Marecia. Bilbo looked at her out of the corner of his eye and was surprised to she was trembling. “Don’t touch it, Bilbo, I don’t like it.”

Bilbo looked down at the ring’s harmless gleam. “It’s just a ring, Mar,” he said.

“Don’t touch it!” Marecia whispered again, pressing her shaking body all against his neck. “There’s something not right about it. Don’t you feel how wrong it is?”

But Bilbo didn’t feel his daemon’s fear of the thing, was instead captivated by the luster and the gleam. So he picked up the ring and slipped it into his waistcoat pocket.

It took him several hours to realize that he had put it in the pocket he usually reserved for Marecia.


	2. Not Just Any Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gamgees' daemons have always been dogs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constance looks like this. http://www.cutepuppiesforsale.net/wp-content/uploads/2010/08/Wolamute-Puppies-For-Sale-1.jpg

Every Gamgee in the Shire had a dog daemon. From Hamfast and his little white Yorkshire terrier to young Marigold and her sweet brown Beagle, dogs were the way most Gamgees settled down. That was just the way of things.

But unlike Sam’s daemon, folks could usually tell what kind of dog any particular Gamgee was.

Constance was a pointy-nosed mutt and that was the only thing you could say about her. Big dog, brown on top, white on bottom, pointed ears and snout, a fluffy tail, great big paws. But not any kind of dog ever seen in the Shire, nor in Bree, nor anywhere else that Sam knew of.

Sometimes, when he was younger, Sam would stroke her and complain.

“Why’d you have to settle so early, Connie?” he’d say, rubbing his hand absentmindedly against her neck, “What are we even?”

Constance would give a flick of her tail. “We’re us,” she said, “We’re a dog, but not just any dog. We’re something more.”

Sam would snort and roll over, trying to get back to sleep, the warm comfort of his daemon against his back. There were days he didn’t think he’d ever know what they really were.


	3. I Wish it Had Never Come to Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo’s old ring isn’t quite so harmless as it seems to hobbits’ eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tennessae is a tortoise, though I haven't bothered to figure out what kind yet. She looks like this: http://wac.450f.edgecastcdn.net/80450F/1027kord.com/files/2012/02/Tortoise.jpg

Frodo clutched Tennessae in his arms as they raced back toward Bag-End. They had known Bilbo and Marecia would pull a stunt like this, they knew that their uncle and his daemon were probably already gone for good, but it wouldn’t hurt to try, to make it home to say good-bye to him one last time.

They wished Bilbo and Marecia had asked them to come along.

They burst in through the front door. “Bilbo! Marecia!” But as soon as they called, Frodo and Tenn knew that they weren’t there.

Something golden flickered in the corner of Frodo’s eye and he looked down. There it was, lying on the ground – Bilbo’s ring. He bent down to pick it up, almost without thinking.

“Don’t!” said Tenn suddenly, from where she was tucked under one arm. “There’s something wrong with that ring. Don’t touch it.”

“It’s just Bilbo’s old magic ring,” said Frodo, and he picked it up and cradled it gently in his palm. Tennessae’s little legs waved in the air as he made his way over to Gandalf.

When Gandalf said to keep it safe, they had, but that didn’t stop the thrill of fear running through Frodo weeks later when he found the door open and the place ransacked. Except it turned out that Gandalf was there, and even though Gandalf was strange and often made people uncomfortable with his staff-soul, Frodo and Tenn couldn’t help but feel relieved.

When Gandalf plucked it up and threw it into the fire, Frodo leaped forward. “What are you doing?” he said, a measure of rage and fear coursing through him.

But he could feel Tenn’s relief, her vindictive pleasure at the thing’s destruction. And in that second, he hated her, hated her for wanting it gone, for coming between him and it.

The next instant he breathed a sigh of relief, while Tenn echoed one of disappointment, for Gandalf pulled the ring out of the fire unharmed. Frodo immediately took it and examined it, ignoring the dark glances Tenn gave him.

“Can you see anything?” Gandalf asked.

“Nothing,” said Frodo. Then the markings began to appear. “Wait, there’s something here. Some form of Elvish.”

Tenn craned her neck over to look at the ring, but Frodo didn’t move his hands so she could see it. She didn’t even like the ring, anyways, he didn’t know why she had to see it.

“I can’t read it,” Tenn said.

“There are few who can,” said Gandalf, clutching his staff tightly, “It is the language of Mordor.”

Frodo felt his heart go cold at that, and he turned then to touch Tennessae. Mordor. The land of death.

“What is it, Gandalf?” Tenn asked, and Gandalf bowed his head for a long moment before turning to look Frodo in the eye.

“It is the Ring of Power, forged by Sauron long ago,” he whispered quietly. He stood silent for another long pause, and then said, “Much like my staff is the essence of my soul, my power, so that ring is the essence of Sauron’s. You might say it is his daemon.”

Tenn snapped her head around to the ring, and Frodo could see her eyes fill with revulsion. Frodo felt the same sudden disgust, and wanted to drop it. He found he could not.

“I knew it,” said Tenn, “I knew there was something wrong with that thing, I knew it. I knew we should never have even touched it.”

Frodo couldn’t help but agree.

Gandalf explained just enough more to terrify Frodo even further, and as he packed for the journey ahead of him into Bree, he held Tenn close to his chest.


	4. Strider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aragorn just can't believe how naive these hobbits are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Telcontar is a lioness, _Panthera leo_ http://www.kewlwallpapers.com/bulkupload/85/Animals/Predatory%20Stare%20Lioness.jpg

Telcontar’s tail swished in annoyance as they watched the halflings and their daemons carousing in the tavern. Aragorn laid his hand gently on her head, trying to calm her. People were already giving them weird looks – it wouldn’t do to attract attention. They’d have a hard enough time convincing Mr. Baggins they were trustworthy anyways, especially if Butterbur got his say in.

“Don’t they know what danger they’re in?” she whined, “Don’t they know how much attention they’re attracting?”

“They’re hobbits from the Shire,” he murmured, “The most dangerous things they’ve encountered in their lives before are vindictive relatives. You can’t blame them.”

Telcontar just growled. “Sure I can,” she said, “You know what Frodo carries. You know what follows him. That’s not a thing to be taken lightly, Estel.”

“I know,” he said, rubbing her behind the ear, “We’ll have to look out for them.”

They both leaped to their feet in shock when Frodo Baggins and his daemon suddenly disappeared. Telcontar growled low in the back of her throat.

“Now that you can’t excuse,” she snarled.

“No, I can’t,” he muttered right back.

They weren’t exactly gentle with Frodo and his daemon, dragging them up to a private room, a safe room. Telcontar was still growling in irritation, though Aragorn kept trying to shoot her warning looks to get her to stop.

When Frodo’s servant and friends burst into the room, their daemons growling, Telcontar very subtly relaxed. At least they knew that Frodo’s companions wouldn’t desert him, that they were loyal.

Although they did notice that the young one’s daemon, who had been a meerkat down at the tavern, was now a large wild sow. Aragorn wouldn’t have expected Frodo to pick someone so young to [join](http://dedicatedfollower467.tumblr.com/post/41847834977/ch-3-strider) him in his quest, though he’d obviously proven his poor judgment several times tonight.

As introductions were sorted out between the man and the hobbits, Aragorn kept an eye on Telcontar and the hobbits’ daemons. It seemed Frodo’s little tortoise was getting along with her pretty well, which boded well for Frodo’s trust in him. The servant’s dog daemon, though, watched Telcontar warily from the corner of the room.

Oh well. Whether Frodo would have them or not, Aragorn and Telcontar were going to protect this little band.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Telcontar calls Aragorn "Estel" because that was his nickname in Rivendell before he found out he was the heir. She just never changed.


	5. What Good Is It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the fight at Weathertop, Merry wishes his daemon were something a little more imposing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Penethis is a ferret, _Mustela putorius furo_ http://images.canadianlisted.com/nlarge/young-female-ferret-needs-loving-home-cage-food_4979954.jpg

Merry would never, ever get used to the Black Riders.

They had no daemons.

Not like Gandalf, whose daemon was in his staff, but like Bilbo’s tales of orcs, like stories of people severed, like someone who had no soul.

Penethi trembled, sickened at the very thought, and Merry wanted to give in, to tremble too. Instead he drew his knife and scrambled backwards, trying to make some kind of defensive barrier around Frodo. To one side, he could see Sam, wild and grim, Constance snarling in front of him with her hackles raised. To the other was Pippin, his Alalia changed into a huge bear, also snarling and ready to fight.

But Pen just curled deeper inside Merry’s collar and shook. Merry swallowed. What good was a ferret daemon in a fight? It had been a long time since Pen had settled, since they had finally found out who they were, and yet Merry found himself wishing she’d picked some other form – a lion, or a wolf, or a wildcat.

Something with claws. Something with teeth.

Something that didn’t huddle down in his shirt and quiver at the prospect of combat.

Weathertop was a strong, defensive position, and Merry did his best, but he was up against wraiths, against spirit creatures without a spirit, and he did not know how to fight and he had a cowardly ferret for a daemon. It was not good enough, they were not brave enough, not strong enough.

They were lucky when Strider and his daemon came charging over the ridge with a loud cry, driving back the wraiths, but then Merry and Pen saw Frodo.

Pen shivered against his skin when they saw the wound, deep and painful-looking in Frodo’s shoulder. “Look at Tennessae,” she hissed, and Merry felt a deep sense of terror when he saw the little tortoise flickering and shimmering, as though she were about to disappear.

“Frodo!” cried Sam, and he and Constance immediately kneeled down beside them, Constance carefully nudging Tennessae forward so that Sam could lay Frodo’s hand on his daemon.

Merry knelt down, patting Frodo’s face, not daring to hope that Frodo would come to his senses.

He wished Pen was a wolf.


	6. Air and Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gimli and Legolas see each other - and each other's daemons - for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bridageld is a European badger, _Meles meles_ http://images2.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20110604031223/yogscast/images/2/21/Eurasian_Badger.jpg
> 
> Cúfaroth is a barn owl, _Tyto alba alba_ http://imgc.allpostersimages.com/images/P-473-488-90/26/2675/15EUD00Z/posters/russell-burden-barn-owl-on-stump.jpg

The first time they saw the elf, Bridageld dug her claws into the ground, the fur on her back bristling.

“That elf!” she hissed, “He hasn’t got a daemon!”

Gimli turned to view the elf in question, hoping that he was discreet enough that he wasn’t being outright rude. Sure enough, there didn’t seem to be a daemon anywhere near the elf, and unless he were hiding her up his sleeves or in his quiver, there didn’t seem to be anyplace for a small creature to hide. He felt a shiver travel down his back at the sight. It was like looking at an orc, only worse.

“You know how strange elves are,” Gimli muttered under his breath, trying not to be too obvious about staring at him.

“But they must have daemons,” Brida said, rubbing up against Gimli’s leg for protection, “They wouldn’t be people otherwise. I know they’re strange, but they can’t be soulless.”

“Maybe this one had an accident?” Gimli offered, thinking with a sort of chill of an old dwarf his father had known whose daemon had been killed in the Battle of the Five Armies. He apparently hadn’t lasted long without her.

“But he doesn’t act like that,” Brida whispered, “He’s walking around, and alert, and intelligent.”

Suddenly the elf looked up grinning, apparently seeing something in the sky. Gimli followed his gaze and saw a Barn Owl swooping down towards him. He watched as the elf held out his arm and the owl landed lightly on his arm brace.

The elf bent his head forward, looking as though he were speaking to it.

Bridageld stiffened again. “That’s his daemon!” she whispered, “That owl – that’s his daemon.”

Gimli’s eyes widened as he looked over again. “It can’t be,” he said, “That owl – it came from over the ridge of the valley! If she was really his daemon, she couldn’t possibly stand to be that far away from him.”

“I’m telling you, Gimli, that’s his daemon,” she said, “I can tell.”

They both stared at the pair until the elf and the owl looked up at them. Then Gimli turned away, though Bridageld dug in her claws and looked right back. There was no denying elves were strange.

* * *

Legolas grinned when he sensed Cúfaroth returning. Sure enough, there she was, her great white wings spread out as she swooped down to him. He raised his arm out and she settled on it, ruffling her feathers.

He leaned forward slightly. “Hello, mellonamin,” he said, “What news do you have?”

Cú shrugged. “Nothing, really. Belegil sends her regards and hopes you’ll return soon.”

Legolas hummed. “Good to know father is thinking about us.”

Suddenly Cú stilled and turned her head slightly. “Don’t look now,” she said, “But that dwarf and his daemon are staring at us.”

Legolas turned curiously to look. The dwarf looked away, but his little badger daemon kept staring at them, bristling slightly. Legolas felt a bit like laughing, but restrained himself.

“They probably saw how we can separate,” Cú said, let out a clacking chuckle, “Not an everyday occurrence in Erebor, I’d guess.”

Legolas smiled, and turned once more to look at the badger. She had finally turned away, stumping grumpily after her dwarf.

“I can’t imagine what it would be like to be so tied to the ground,” Legolas said finally, “Can you imagine that badger trying to climb a tree?”

Cú chuckled again. “Not at all!” she said, “Come on, Legolas, we’ll be wanted at the council.”

“All right.” Legolas patted her head once before turning to go into Elrond’s house.


	7. Unsettled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pippin really hates being treated like a child.

Normally, Pippin really liked that Lally hadn’t settled. He liked that she could turn into a robin to fly up with him into an apple tree, or a mole and dig up potatoes, or a deer that he could run wild with over the fields. She could be a pony and carry him on her back, or she could be a monkey and he could carry her. There were days when he was younger that he told everybody he knew he hoped Alalia would never settle, ever.

There were other days when it bothered him.

Like sitting in Elrond’s council, and having his daemon’s unsettled form being cited as a reason why he shouldn’t go on the quest.

Lally not settling meant he was still seen as a child, though he was nearly of age, and certainly not innocent anymore. He knew a lot about the world – more than most hobbits, at least – and hadn’t they demonstrated out on Weathertop that a daemon who could still change into a bear was more useful in a fight than a daemon settled as, say, a tortoise?

Eventually, it was decided he could go, but that didn’t stop him from walking back slowly to the room he shared with Merry, stroking Lally’s neck as she strode beside him as a wolfhound.

Pippin settled on the bed and looked into his daemon’s eyes. “Do you think you might stay like that?” he asked, “We could settle as a wolfhound, that would be fun.”

Lally shook her head and changed immediately into an elegant white cat, twining gently around his feet. “That’s not what we are, Pip,” she said, “It just isn’t us.”

“So, no more wolfhound?” he said, and even he could tell how wistful he sounded.

Lally laughed. “Just because that’s not who we are doesn’t mean I don’t like wearing it!” she said, and Pippin held her close to his chest and sighed quietly. It didn’t matter that most folks their age had already settled – Alalia and Pippin weren’t ready yet.


	8. A Weapon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the depths of Moria, Boromir considers hobbits and the One Ring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hesial is a bobcat, _Lynx rufus_ http://greatcatsoftheworld.files.wordpress.com/2012/04/beautiful-bobcat.jpg

Boromir had never been more grateful for Hesiel’s excellent eyesight. Though the way was dark and gloomy, she could pick out safe pathways ahead of him. Of course, Gandalf’s staff helped, but Boromir always preferred to rely on himself and Hesiel when he could. They had always been unabashedly independent.

Pippin’s daemon had transformed into a small monkey-like creature with huge eyes that Boromir had never seen before. Watching the little hobbit’s daemon change always sent a pang through Boromir’s heart. He was just a child. He should not be out here, not on this dark road, this fool’s errand.

The other one was scarcely older than him, and Boromir watched as he cradled his little ferret to his chest. Hesiel sighed through her nose as they looked at the two, and then glanced up at him. He nodded and sighed in return, placing his hand on her head for an instant. There was nothing they could do now – they were trapped together in the depths of Moria.

Suddenly Pippin slipped on something, and he let out a cry as he stumbled and nearly fell off the ledge. Boromir jumped out and snatched him by the back of his collar, hauling him up and hugging the little hobbit tight to his chest. Underneath his fingers, he could feel Pippin’s heart beating far too fast, and his daemon was shrieking, wrapping around the hobbit's leg and flickering into a thousand different shapes nearly as quickly as his heartbeat.

“Silence!” shouted Gandalf, and Alalia shut her mouth, though she glared angrily at the wizard. Hesiel gently bumped her head against the upset little daemon, and she relaxed ever so slightly. Boromir let out a breath at the same time that he let go of Pippin.

“Thanks,” Pippin whispered. Boromir just nodded as Hesiel nudged Alalia back onto her feet so the group could get moving again.

That night, Hesiel and Boromir didn’t sleep much, sitting up and watching their fifteen companions instead, eight people and seven daemons.

“I can’t believe they’re just going to destroy the Ring,” Boromir muttered.

Hesiel shuddered. “I can,” she whispered, “It’s Sauron’s daemon _,_ Boromir. I can’t believe Frodo can even stand to touch it, let alone carry it so far.”

“But don’t you see?” Boromir said, “If we controlled it, it would be as good as controlling Sauron himself. No one can withstand their daemon being hurt.”

“Which is why Frodo goes to destroy it,” Hesiel said. She paused slightly, and then said, “Boromir, consider. When we fight orcs, I fight as well, biting them, hurting them. It doesn’t hurt us because when I attack, I am a weapon – when I fight, I am strong. Sauron can use the Ring the same way. It can be a weapon for him to tear person from daemon, to rip apart the peoples of Middle-Earth.”

“All right, all right,” Boromir muttered, crossing his arms over his chest, “Should’ve known I have a softie for a daemon.”

Hesiel grinned, though it wasn’t so much grinning as it was baring her teeth. “I’m no softie, Boromir,” she said, “We’re not soft.”

Boromir touched the hilt of his sword. “No,” he said, “We’re not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, my headcanon for daemon touching is slightly different than others'. I think there's a huge difference between your daemon touching another person and another person touching your daemon. This is why I think Hesiel (and other daemons) can actively fight and lash out at creatures like orcs without injury, while being grabbed by an orc is really painful and frightening.
> 
> Just clearing that up for this chapter, and later down the road. :)


	9. Of Trees and Climbing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Constance have a little difficulty getting into the trees in Lothlorien.

There were still tears blurring Sam’s eyes when they reached the woods of Lothlorien. Connie walked with her tail drooped and her ears back, hugging tightly to Sam’s side. The evidence of grief could be seen in the way each daemon in the group walked or huddled with their person. Even Legolas’s Barn Owl, normally so mirthful and energetic, bowed her head and stood on his shoulder as though she couldn’t move. Alalia had turned into a mourning dove, and Pippin was holding her to his chest.

Sam and Constance could see that even Telcontar walked mournfully, though Aragorn tried to be strong and lead them. It was he that urged them on, and Boromir who brought up the rear, he and his daemon carefully herding Merry and Pippin ahead of them.

Then they were nearly killed by a group of elves, elves so unlike Legolas or Elrond’s people that they seemed almost a different race. For these elves were beautiful and graceful and suspicious and deadly.

And then they were told they had to sleep in the trees that night, climbing up the ladders.

Oh, it was easy enough for some. Hesiel and Telcontar, as big cats, simply leaped up onto the platforms as though they were jumping up onto a bed. Frodo carefully tucked Tennessae into his pack and carried her up on his back. Penethi peeped out of the collar of Merry’s cloak as he climbed. Alalia turned into a monkey and clambered up easily, and Legolas’s daemon just flew up to her resting spot.

That left Sam and Gimli on the ground with a dog and a badger.

Eventually, with much grumbling and complaining about the indignity of it all, Gimli climbed up while Bridageld clung tenaciously to his clothing.

Leaving Sam and Constance.

“If it’s all the same to you, we’ll just sleep on the ground tonight,” said Sam.

“It’s not all the same to us,” said Haldir, who had an enormous hawk daemon, “You’ll attract orcs.”

Sam shivered and looked around. Connie sighed heavily. “Oh, all right, hang on,” she muttered, nosing around the ladder for a minute. Then she put her two front paws up on a rung of the ladder and started to climb.

Sam tried to stifle his laughter and hide his blush in his hands. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anything more funny or embarrassing than watching the uncomfortable way his daemon wriggled and wormed up the ladder. Long before he started to feel the strain of separation, Sam got onto the wildly swaying lower end and climbed up after her.

“Bravo, Connie,” said Tennessae when they both collapsed onto the floor of the platform.

Constance panted. “Don’t you ever ask me to do that again, Miss Tennessae,” she gasped, “I won’t be climbing nothing like that no more.”

“You’ll have to get down in the morning,” Sam pointed out.

Constance took a quick glance over the side of the platform. “Eh, I’ll risk jumping,” she said, “Better a broken leg that than twisty old ladder.”


	10. They Looked Into Our Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boromir and Hesiel are supremely uncomfortable with the way Galadriel looks at them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Galadriel's daemon is a Mute Swan, _Cygnus olor_ http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/11/Mute_Swan_at_Fleet_Pond.jpg

Boromir had never in his life seen anyone or anything quite like Lady Galadriel. Beautiful, serene, with her gorgeous swan daemon pressed close to her side, he didn’t know whether he could keep watching much longer. She welcomed them graciously, and then she looked at them.

That  _look._ It wasn’t like any other look. For one thing, Boromir was keenly aware that Galadriel wasn’t actually looking at him. No, Galadriel had her eyes fixed on Hesiel, in a way that was somehow uncomfortable. You didn’t stare at another person’s daemon – a person’s daemon was a private, delicate subject. But Galadriel apparently did not care about those traditional boundaries.

He was equally aware and discomfited by the fact that while Galadriel was staring at his daemon, her daemon was staring directly at him. It had only taken him a few seconds of looking into the dark, glinting eyes of that swan before he looked away, swallowing.

Boromir felt somehow that Galadriel and her swan daemon were offering them something and weighing their choice. He clenched his hand in Hesiel’s fur, wanting nothing more than to tell the elf woman to stop  _staring_ at them. Now he understood why the Rohirrim called her an enchantress and distrusted her so – no one could stand up to this scrutiny, not for long.

It felt as though Galadriel were judging his soul (and she was, wasn’t she? For Hesiel was more than steadfast companion and dearest friend, she was soul, she was  _his_ soul) and that she had somehow found it inadequate.

That night, among the trees of Lothlorien, Hesiel did not sleep in her usual spot by Boromir’s feet. Instead she crept up to press herself against his chest. She hadn’t done it in ages – the pose reminded Boromir of Sam and his dog daemon.

“I’m sorry,” Hesiel whispered, and Boromir stroked her gently.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he muttered.

“I know,” said Hesiel. “But – I’m sorry anyway.”

Boromir didn’t answer, and they fell asleep curled together like that.


End file.
